Chapter 55: Evacuees

It all happened during one week: starting a new school, war declared and the introduction of two evacuees into the Watson household! Michael liked adventures but all this took a bit of getting used to.

A cream-and-green charabanc made its way slowly round the new Scale Hall Estate. It had started off full, with over 30 boys and girls and two teachers from Salford, part of a consignment from the Manchester area -- assumed to be a prime-target for Hitler's bombers.

The children had been separated from their parents, sent by train to Lancaster and transported by coach around the city and the outlying districts. A Women's Voluntary Service member was on the coach and it was her job to find homes for the teachers and the children.

By the time that the vehicle and the evacuees had reached the top of Sefton Drive, it was almost dark and the woman in charge was beginning to despair. Would she ever be able to find anyone willing to take her few remaining scraps of humanity? Not many local households had been keen to have their numbers suddenly swollen by the more presentable.

The last two were far from presentable.

The teachers had stayed on board with the last of their pupils. It was their duty to see them safely billeted. Billy and Mickey had been rejected by all who had been asked to take them in. They had runny noses, filthy hair, dirty clothing and smelled of pee.

Britain was a nation was divided. There were those who paid lip-service to unity, pulling-together, sharing-the-burden etc. And then there were the Watsons and their kind, the ones who were reluctant heroes -- but when the time came and the need was genuine, they were prepared to do their duty. They helped others and did everything possible to help win the war.

Although they had had their differences, mainly arising from the Beth business, neither Margaret or Gordon had a moment's hesitation in saying "Yes," when they were asked if they would go and look at the two pathetic little kids, huddled together on one of the double seats of the charabanc.

"Yes," said Gordon, "of course we'll have them. They can stay with us."

"I'll have to have a look at your accommodation," said the dutiful W.V.S. woman, although she was thinking that even if the house was a slum inside, it would have to do. The Watsons were her only hope of finding the two boys a home.

They showed her round. Mr Mort was in his downstairs room and Michael and Gwyn were, seated at the table, drawing in their sketch books. The woman went upstairs with Gordon and Margaret. Gordon explained that Gwyn could move into Michael's room and the two little boys could sleep in her room.

"We could do with some extra bedding," Margaret suggested.
"I'll see to that first thing tomorrow," the woman replied, overjoyed to be unloading the last of her responsibilities on the Watsons.

The Martins had noticed the charabanc and went outside to find out what was going on. They were talking to the teachers and offering them accommodation. "Our Doreen will have to move in with John," said Mrs Martin.

"I'm sure that we'll manage," pronounced Mr Martin.

Gordon and Margaret went back to the coach to collect the two boys. "Come along, Billy, Mickey," Gordon urged the two lads.
"Don't want to!" said Billy.

Mickey turned his back on Gordon and huddled closer to Billy. Gordon turned to the W.V.S. woman, who asked the teachers to help. One of the teachers ordered the boys to move and go with 'the nice man'. They obeyed reluctantly, and Gordon guided them indoors.
"I'll bring the extra bedding tomorrow," said the fat, grey-haired W.V.S. woman. "I won't forget. I'll come and see if they've settled in. And thanks for taking them! It's very kind of you."

The two boys stood looking at Michael and Gwyn in the dining-room. None of the children said anything to each other.

The newcomers looked as though they were traumatised, their spindly legs stuck into Wellington boots. Billy's were too small for him and Mickey's too large. Both had cold sores on their lips and red marks at the back of their knees, where the boots had chaffed them.

Their short trousers were patched and dirty. Both wore grey jerseys with had holes in them and which were too small and tight around their chests. There was a gap, where bare skin was seen, between trouser tops and jersey bottoms. Both had wiped their runny noses on the sleeves of their jerseys and the snot still glistened there. Gas masks hung over their shoulders in cardboard boxes, supported by string. Attached to the breast of their jerseys were labels, with their names and addresses on.

Each of them carried a brown-paper carrier-bag with a few clothes inside. There were pumps, with holes in the soles, and a dirty raincoat, with buttons missing and no belt. Mickey's coat was too small and Billy's too big.

Both were pale, of dismal visage and skinny physique. Both were aged five but they looked like undernourished four-year-olds.

Michael didn't like the sight of them at all, but Gwyn felt sorry for them because they looked so sad. Gordon and Margaret wondered what they had taken on.

"They'd better have a bath to start with," Margaret suggested.
"Agreed!" replied Gordon.
"You find some clean clothes for them and I'll take them up to the bathroom."

Gordon placed a protective hand on their shoulders. "Now me lads, let's be having you! What you need is a nice warm bath."
"Piss off, mister!" Billy snarled.
"Get off!" said Mickey, shaking Gordon's hand away.

Momentarily taken aback, Gordon decided it was time for action. It was a case of starting in the way he intended carrying on. He grabbed both of them by the scruff of the neck. He pushed them up the stairs and into the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the taps.

"Come on lads, get undressed!"
"Not bloody likely!" said Billy.
Mickey cowered away from Gordon.
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Gordon. "You'll like a nice bath. You'll feel better for it."
"I bloody won't!" said Billy.
"I don't want one!" said Mickey.

Later, Gordon told his wife, "I think they thought I was going to drown them. Never seen a bath before!"
"Neither had we 'til recently. Not a modern one," she reminded him.

Gordon needed assistance. "Margaret!" he called. "Leave what you're doing! I need some help."

Somehow, between them, they managed to undress the boys. All they had on were dirty jerseys, stained trousers and smelly Wellington boots. Screaming and struggling, they were placed in the bath facing each other. They were given a thorough soaking and washing. When their hair was washed all hell broke loose. Billy's language was unbelievable. Margaret was distraught at the thought of Michael and Gwyn hearing it.

Downstairs, Michael said to Gwyn that he didn't like them. "They'll be all right when they get used to us," his sister replied. But they weren't. They were terrible. Years later, Gordon read 'Put Out More Flags' by Evelyn Waugh. "Not a word of exaggeration in that book," Gordon told Jack, when he went to see him during one of his leaves from the Air Force. "The pair we had were just like that."

Usually one for doing his duty, Jack had refused to have evacuees. "No more brats in this house!" was his comment.

"I thought you believed in putting your money where your mouth is!" Sheila reminded him.
Jack shuddered. "There are limits!"

After two hours of striving, threatening and coaxing, the two boys were bathed, put into clean shirts and trousers belonging to Michael. Their hair was deloused. Both were smacked by Margaret for resisting and swearing. They howled the place down. "My mam'll kill you," snarled Billy. She fed them and gave each a cup of hot cocoa.

Still no words were exchanged with Michael and Gwyn. While all of the commotion was going on, Mr Mort stayed-put in his own room. He had not been consulted. He was so easy-going no one had bothered to ask if he objected to two more in the house.

When it was time to put them to bed, it was long past Michael's and Gwyn's normal bedtime. Margaret had done some rearranging upstairs. Gwyn was going to sleep on the floor in Michael's room. She liked the idea and Michael didn't mind. Curiously, during the three months that she slept in there Michael never had a nightmare. He slept soundly and awoke early every morning. "Fresh as a daisy!" his Dad said. Michael wondered if the Uglies had retreated. He hoped that they had decided to leave him alone and go somewhere else.

The first night, and most nights, Billy and Mickey wet the bed. Margaret had not been prepared for that. "I'll bring you some rubber under-sheeting," said the W.V.S. woman when she came the next day. She was prepared to really put herself out and ensure that the Watsons did not drop those two back onto her lap!

Classes for the evacuees were set-up in St Chad's Church, where they were taught by their own teachers. The floor-to-ceiling blue curtain was pulled across in front of the altar. This was normal practice when cubs, scouts and other organisations used the church for their activities. It was a wooden, temporary mission church, built hastily for a congregation drawn from the nearby, private and corporation estates. Portable chairs and trestle tables were moved around to form an open plan school, with screening for separate classes. It wasn't that different to what had always been done on Sunday afternoons when the Sunday School split up into different groups.

At home, Margaret managed well. Hadn't her own mother had to survive with nine children? Hadn't Beatrice's circumstances been much more difficult than hers? She was determined to cope -- and cope she did.

Routines, which they had never known before, were imposed on the two boys. They walked with Margaret and the other children to their 'school' which was right next door to Ryelands School. They learned some table manners and cleanliness. They ate well and thrived. After a month they looked quite healthy. It was a remarkable transformation.

"If you look carefully enough, you can find gold underneath muck!" Gordon commented.

Curiously, mothers who had refused to accommodate any evacuees themselves distanced themselves from Margaret. They avoided her and her charges. Perhaps they felt guilty. One might have expected some support from them or a few words of encouragement but no, people kept their distance and looked askance at the bad behaviour of the boys. It was as though some locals were frightened of catching something off them.

Nan didn't stand any nonsense. When Gordon took them to see her they recognised Authority as soon as they saw it. They sat on the rug in front of the fire quite meekly, models of good behaviour. Nan found them a sweet or two and a couple of pence for pocket-money. They said, "Thank you!" without being asked. "Nice little lads!" she told Gordon. "Must be missing their mothers. Poor mites!"

Michael really hated them. They played with all of his toys, without asking. They were careless and willful. They broke or damaged most of precious belongings. Sometimes they did it accidentally, often on purpose. It was a good job they were younger than he was, or he would have been frightened of them. They were younger versions of the bullies at St Mary's, only worse, much worse! Even so, the way that they ganged up against him and never conversed with him worried him and made him resentful and angry.

After two months, Gordon went into the Air Force and Mr Mort had to leave. It would not be proper for him to be in the same house with a woman whose husband was away in the Forces. His quiet presence in the house was hardly missed. But his money for lodging was.

On the day he left, he gave Michael and Gwyn half-a-crown each. He didn't give the evacuees anything. He told Margaret he'd been happy lodging there and was sorry to go. For him, that was a long speech.

The Watson's income shrunk overnight, even though Gordon sent home most of his own Air Force pay, as well as his married man's allowance. But it wasn't enough to pay the bills. Margaret hated him for leaving her like he had.

After three months, the evacuee boys' mothers came to take them back home. There had been no bombing raids on Manchester, so what was the point of them being evacuated?

It was a Saturday, a dreary November afternoon when they arrived. Gordon was on a 48-hour pass from Blackpool where he was still stationed. It was he who opened the door, to admit the mothers. Margaret bristled as soon as she set eyes on them.

"Common! Common as muck!" she thought.

Both of them had cigarettes on the go."We don't smoke in the house!" were her first words to them.

"Don't worry, we're not coming in," replied the tall one, with dyed blonde hair. "Posh, snooty bitch!" she thought, staring back at Margaret.
"We just want the children back, please," said the short one, the brunette with streaks of grey in her hair.

"Anyone would think I'd kidnapped them!" Margaret thought. Margaret had only received their letter that morning. It was ill-mannered of them and too short notice. Billy and Mickey were very excited when she told them and looking forward to seeing their mothers.

Gordon insisted that the two women enter the house. "You can't stand out there in the rain. The boys are almost ready for you." They trod on their cigarette ends and went in, where there were joyful reunions.

"Mam, we have to have a wash before we go to bed every night," Billy protested.
"Mam, she makes us have a bath every week!" said Mickey.
"Mam, she makes me wear socks," squealed Billy.
"Mam, she's always telling us off about something," said Mickey.
"Even when we've done nowt wrong!" added Billy.
"Ungrateful little sods!" thought Gordon.

Margaret frowned, sighed, then thawed a little, and offered a cup of tea, which was accepted. Gordon took their coats and they sat down. They were all face-powder and lipstick, short skirts and stocking-tops. Gordon didn't mind them. Margaret hoped they wouldn't stay long. "Could do with a good wash, the pair of them! All that make-up! Covering up the dirt I expect!"

Gwyn showed them her dolls. Michael sat in a chair, saying nothing, reading a book.
Mickey and Billy were pleased to be leaving. The old freedoms at home would more than compensate for the home comforts of Sefton Drive. Their mothers were not impressed and did not remark on the incredible improvement in the appearance of their offspring. They drank their tea and then they asked for the boys' ration books. Margaret had already used some of the coupons for the coming week so an argument developed. "How are we going to feed them, if we can't buy their rations?"

"I'm sorry, but I only got your letter this morning! I'd already used some of their coupons. I went shopping yesterday."

Blondie sniffed significantly. She seemed to be hinting that Margaret was not telling the truth.

"You'll have to let us have some of what you've bought," said the long-nosed brunette, crossing her legs and showing Gordon a bit more thigh.
"That seems fair," Blondie seconded. She was going to light another cigarette but her friend nudged her and spoke sarcastically. "Rules! No fags indoors!"

Gordon intervened, "If you want to have a smoke, I'll go and unlock the shed. You can go in there."
"Thank you very much. I'll take you up on that," said Blondie, fluttering her artificial eyelashes at Gordon.

They both stood up, and followed Gordon out into the pouring rain, where they made a dash for the shed. Their kids went with them. Gordon ran back to the house. Margaret was hastily packing Billy's and Mickey's belongings into new carrier-bags. She put some sugar and tea-leaves into an empty jam-jar and wrapped some butter and slices of meat in grease-proof paper. She put those items and the boys' ration books on the top, ready for inspection, in the carrier-bags. "That should be enough to shut them up," she hissed. "And as for you, Mr Prince Charming, perhaps you'd like to go and tell them I've everything ready for them, so they can be on their way. But be careful, those two would eat you alive in five minutes."

"What are you talking about, love?"
"You know what I mean!" she whispered hoping that Michael and Gwyn wouldn't hear. "Your eyes are out on organ stops. All bums and tits aren't they? Right up your street!"

It wasn't like his wife to be crude. He could sense her burning resentment, his affair with Beth never far from the surface, it seemed. She hated his having joined-up and wondered what he was doing during his spare time in Blackpool.

"Come off it Margaret! I'm only trying to be pleasant."

Margaret had them on their way within minutes. Gordon decided it would be better if he didn't offer to walk with them to the bus stop. Margaret, Gordon and Gwyn said goodbye.

Michael didn't. Rob had taught him a useful phrase to suit the situation. "Good riddance to bad rubbish!" he thought, relieved to see the back of the two boys.

Nobody thanked Margaret for having them stay with her and for looking after them so well.
The quartet wandered away, down the road, in the rain. Gordon watched from the shelter of the hall, just inside the front door. As they turned into Borwick Drive, he saw Blondie give Billy a terrific swipe across the back of his head. He could hear the lad's shrieking from where he stood.

That was the end of the evacuees. There were similar departures from all over Lancaster. Within a few months, nearly all had returned from whence they came. Back to their slums! For many lower-middle-class and aspirant working-class families who had given them shelter their encounters had been something of a culture shock and a reminder of the very real differences which existed within the country. Lancaster might have its poor but most of those evacuated kids came from real dumps!

Margaret had liked the two boys. They'd responded well to her carrot-and-stick kind of discipline and had learned not to step outside her well-defined boundaries, when it came to good or bad behaviour. But, overall, she was vastly relieved that they had gone. Now that Gordon was in the Air Force, they were really hard-up. The meagre payments she'd received from Authority for lodging the boys had been quite inadequate for their needs. She would find it much easier to make ends meet now they had departed. She decided to try and find herself a little job. If she succeeded, it would be her first. She'd never worked outside of home. First her father, and then her husband, had always provided for her. The war was changing everything. Margaret's good times were over. Never again would she be able to say that her life was perfect.

"I'll have to go on with it the best I can," she mused, feeling sorry for her self. "How is it that everything has changed so dramatically for the worse in just 12 months?"